I miss him

It's been more than five years, but I still miss him. I miss his chuckle. I miss his voice. I miss the way he would shake his glass and rattle the ice to make his water colder, even though I always complained when he did it. I miss his passion for political issues. I miss his "What you should have said..." speeches, and I miss the proud look on his face when he talked about his kids and grandkids. There are even moments when I miss the way he expressed his "always right" opinion as though it were absolutely factual. There's not a day that passes when I don't wish he were a phone call away, when the car is making a strange new noise, when I desperately need his expertise at fixing things because I have broken something else, or just when I am having one of those days that I need to hear his voice on the other end to remind me that he's there to catch me if I fall.

He's the one who taught me how to ride a bike. He's the one who took me to get my stitches out, promising me a Barbie Doll if I didn't cry. He's the one who made good on that promise, along with years of promises that followed. He's the one that I was too afraid to call the night I found myself in a whole heap of trouble, but he's the one who found out anyway and showed up to be the hero that I needed him to be. He's the one who skipped the "I'm disappointed in you." speech and replaced it with "I love you, and we'll never speak of this again." He's the one who made sure I always had "the best" and taught me that I shouldn't settle for anything less. He's the one who drove more than three hours to help me with an event because he heard I was overwhelmed. He's the one who said, "It's okay now; Daddy is here to help." He is also the one who taught me what my Heavenly Father must be like, not by the words that he spoke, but by the dad that he was. I miss him. Five years of Father's Days without him hasn't made me miss him less.

Class Dismissed!

The school year had been a blur, the week a bit of chaos, and the day was but a moment. The final test was over, and the last student had left. A few parents popped in to wish me well, offer a hug, a word of encouragement, and a final goodbye. I was left in the silence and peace of the empty classroom. As I gathered my things to leave, I stood at the front and looked across the classroom. Like a slide show, flashes of faces began to appear before me, the faces of ten years of students, some of whom I hadn't thought about in years. I saw Matthews, Daniels, Jasons and Jonathans, Sarahs, Hannahs, Staceys and Courtneys. There were Bens and Brittanies, Michaels and Michelles, Ambers and Andrews, Colts and Catrinas. In a moment, I saw what must have been hundreds of faces, and I remembered every name. I could almost hear the laughter and recognize the voices. Instead of being overwhelmed with emotion, I felt this inexplicable sense of peace, a feeling of contentment and satisfaction. Perhaps it was God's way of showing me that my job here was done, or perhaps it was His way of showing me how many I had the opportunity to teach. With the flash of each face, I remembered something special about each student. I remembered how Carrissa taught me how to get rid of the hiccups, how Stephanie reminded me that laughter truly is the best medicine, how Stephen encouraged me through his diligence, how Mariah exemplified true patience and compassion, how Carmela demonstrated a forgiving spirit, how Sarah challenged me to get rid of the masks, and how Aisha showed me that we are all made more than conquerors. The list went on and on; I saw students who touched my heart in ways that words could never capture. I saw some who had endured immeasurable heartache through their parent’s divorce, through tragic events, through abuse, through neglect. I saw some who had been abandoned by parents, some whose parents were just too busy to notice that their children were making devastating mistakes that would last a lifetime. Like an ocean of unending waves, their faces and the memories pounded the shore of my mind. I saw countless faces of those who now work in ministry and those who have chosen to become educators themselves. I saw some who are now mommies and some who are now daddies. And I thought about how many lives I have had an opportunity to touch and how many of them had touched my life. I will forever remember the day I looked at Ryan and saw his potential through God’s eyes. I will remember the moment I saw beyond Dustin’s mischief and behind David’s silence and caught a glimpse of the men they were created to be. I won’t likely forget the day God reprimanded me for being impatient with that junior high student who wouldn’t stop tapping his desk by showing me one day he would use that “talent” in worship. I will treasure the moments when I saw shy little Samantha begin to break out of her shell with a smile that lit up the room, when I witnessed the passing of Jessica’s awkward preteen stage as she entered my classroom on her first day of high school as a beautiful and exuberant young lady, when I saw that light bulb moment as Makenzie discovered that she really was a genius, when I placed my hand on the shoulder of that one student and for the first time he didn’t jump back in fear, and the moment I realized that these students were changing me more than I was changing them. I’m not sure if they are better because of me, or if I am better because of them, but I do know that I will never forget my days at Calvary Baptist School. I will never forget the students who have touched my life, who have helped sculpt me, and mold me into being the person God wants me to be.